“Your mother and I have never felt comfortable about that,” Father quietly said. “Even though our leaders have vowed to repay the Indians when the crops are harvested.”
Samoset soon brought someone else to the settlement, an Indian named Tisquantum, or Squanto. Squanto’s life had been hard. Rebekah listened in wonder as Squanto told his story. Years ago, a captain named Weymouth had explored the northern New England coast. He took Squanto back to England with him. There the Indian learned to speak the white man’s language.
Nine years later, Squanto sailed back across the Atlantic as interpreter to Captain John Smith. A man named Hunt commanded one of the ships. Hunt persuaded twenty Indians, including Squanto, to board his ship.
Rebekah burned with anger when she learned what happened next. Hunt kidnapped the Indians, took them to Spain, and sold them for twenty pounds each. Pride filled Squanto’s face, and he drew himself up with great dignity. “No Patuxet shall be slave to a white man. I escaped to England, lived with a merchant, then sailed to Newfoundland as a guide and interpreter.” Two years ago, Squanto had returned to his home of Patuxet.
A sad look came into the Indian’s dark eyes. He placed one hand over his heart. “Plague had killed all but a few of my tribe. Those who yet lived had joined the Wampanoag and their mighty warrior chief, Massasoit. I found them and also stayed with the Wampanoag.”
Governor Carver asked, “Squanto, will you not stay and help us? You have lost most of your people. So have we. Sickness and starvation have taken more than half our number since we came a few months ago. Our food is almost gone. We want no trouble with your people.”
Squanto turned his glittering gaze on the governor and crossed his arms over his chest. His voice rolled out like a judgment. “Chief Massasoit and the Wampanoag are very angry. The white men stole their corn.”
“We did that, and it was wrong,” Governor Carver admitted. “Our people were starving and needed food. We will replace the corn when we harvest our fields.”
Squanto grunted. Rebekah had the feeling he admired Governor Carver for being so honest. She remembered her father telling her that Indians respected courage, and it surely took courage to confess to stealing the corn and to admit it wasn’t right.
“I will stay. First, I will talk with Chief Massasoit. If he will come, I will bring him to you so our tribes might have peace.” He turned and marched away.
Samoset and Squanto had been bold but friendly. Chief Massasoit and his twenty scantily clad warriors, however, strode into New Plymouth as if it belonged to them! Massasoit appeared to be a few years older than Squanto and stood as tall and straight as one of the arrows he carried. Chief Massasoit kept his kingly air all through the hearty meal and gifts brought to him by the Pilgrims. At last, the time came to talk about peace. Squanto interpreted.
After a brief battle with her conscience, Rebekah followed Will. The children tucked themselves into a good place where they could see and hear without being noticed. Missing the meeting between Chief Massasoit and the governor was unthinkable, but they knew better than to ask Myles Standish for permission to be present. Every time the captain looked at Will, the captain’s glare shouted he hadn’t forgotten a certain Will Cunningham’s disobedience.
Massasoit, king of the Indians, was indeed a fearsome sight. He sat on cushions. Sweat and grease covered his head and red-painted face. White bone beads, a knife on a string, and a tobacco pouch hung from his neck. His warriors also had painted faces: red, white, black, yellow. Rebekah was relieved that they had come on friendly terms. She would hate to have the men meet up with them in the woods otherwise!
Governor Carver and Massasoit talked for a long time. At last, they made a treaty. Rebekah listened carefully to Squanto’s explanation of the agreement. Neither Massasoit nor any of his people would hurt the Pilgrims. If any of his people did hurt them, Chief Massasoit would send the guilty person to the Pilgrims for punishment. If any of the Pilgrims harmed an Indian, they would turn the person over to Chief Massasoit. If any tools were taken, the chief would see they were restored. If anyone made war unjustly against either the Pilgrims or the Indians, the other group would provide protection.
Chief Massasoit also promised to send word of the treaty to his neighboring tribes, so they would follow it, as well. The Indians would leave behind their bows and arrows when they visited the Pilgrims. The settlers would do the same with their muskets when they were in the Indians’ presence. Through this treaty, King James would recognize and honor Massasoit as his ally and friend.
After the meeting, Governor Carver, with great ceremony, escorted Massasoit to the brook and bid him a courteous good-bye. Then they put their arms around each other and hugged. Rebekah watched with wide eyes, hardly believing what she was seeing.
Will threw his cap into the spring air. “At last, things are better, Rebekah. The best thing is that Squanto and Samoset have agreed to help us plant corn and will spend the summer nearby.”
Soon the Pilgrims found it hard to remember when Squanto had not been among them. He knew so much! He showed them how to raise the finest corn, beans, and pumpkins by planting dead herring with the seeds. He taught them the best places to fish and how to catch eels. The children were delighted by their improved diet. Mealtimes were much more interesting now.
Everyone who could worked hard. Rebekah, Will, and Mother, along with the other women and children, spent long hours in the fields. Father and the rest of the men cleared and tilled land. What little time they had at home was gobbled up by other tasks. Furniture making, candle making, spinning, weaving, sewing, shoemaking, and a hundred other duties cried out to be done.
Father and Will stole what time they could to fish. Although they both enjoyed fishing, they needed to catch lots of fish to help make a living. Dried fish shipped to markets in Europe could be traded for cloth and other needed supplies.
Other men caught whales so they could send whale oil to Europe. John Alden continued his cooper business. A blacksmith also served as a dentist.
In early April, a silent group of settlers stood on shore watching the Mayflower set sail for England. Not one Pilgrim had accepted Captain Jones’s offer to take anyone who wanted to sail back with him. Rebekah winked back a tear. Would she ever see Holland again? Or the Dutch friends she and Will had skated and played with? She sighed. “Father, will we ever go ho—back?”
Father watched a strong breeze fill the sails of the Mayflower and move her out of the harbor toward the wide Atlantic. “Nay, child. This is our home now.” He placed one arm around her shoulders, his other around Mother, and smiled at Will. “God is good. He has brought us safely through the winter. We are at peace with Chief Massasoit and his tribes. We have much to be thankful for.”
“We mustn’t forget Squanto,” Mother said. “Surely God sent him to us, that we might learn to live in this new land.”
Will said nothing. Rebekah knew he wouldn’t go back to Holland if he could. Seeing the Mayflower move toward the horizon where it would dip out of sight brought back memories. The crossing. The poor food and lack of good water. The storms that threatened to tear the ship apart at the seams. Most of all, their good friend Jake.
Rebekah hadn’t been back on the Mayflower since their friend died. Would Captain Jones and the small crew who must battle their way across the heaving seas miss the rough seaman? Rebekah turned away to hide her tears. Better to do as Father said and be glad that life was not as hard as it had been during the winter.
But the peace of New Plymouth exploded a few days later. Will and Rebekah were working together in the fields near Governor Carver. Suddenly, he clutched his head and groaned. He staggered toward his home.
Will and Rebekah continued working, but they watched anxiously as Dr. Fuller hurried to Governor Carver’s home. It seemed like the doctor stayed with the governor for an eternity. When he finally left the governor’s home, Dr. Fuller’s face was grim.
Rebekah and Will looked at each other. W
as Governor Carver only the first? Were any in the colony strong enough to survive a second round of sickness?
CHAPTER 12
Danger for Squanto!
The Cunningham family and all the other Pilgrims prayed for Governor Carver to get well, but just a few days after he fell ill, he died. The whole colony mourned.
“Pray for me, Rebekah,” Will confided as he solemnly prepared his musket. All the men and boys who had muskets were going to fire off volleys of shot in honor of Governor Carver. “I don’t want to shoot at the wrong time or do something stupid,” he admitted to his older sister.
Rebekah gave his arm an encouraging squeeze. “I know you’ll do fine,” she said, “but I’ll pray for you, anyway.”
Somberly, the Cunningham family joined their neighbors outside in the warm spring air. When the time came for the muskets to be fired, Will fell into line. Rebekah saw he was paying careful attention to the orders that were given. His hands must have been sweaty from nervousness, for he quickly wiped them on his pants. Rebekah knew he didn’t want his finger to slip off the trigger.
Boom! Boom! The sounds of the shots echoed across the settlement.
Rebekah sighed in relief when it was over. Her brother threw her a grateful look. He’d managed to stay out of trouble ever since that terrible night in the woods, and Rebekah was glad nothing he’d done during this important event had drawn attention to her brother.
Shortly after Governor Carver was buried, the men of New Plymouth voted for a new governor. Rebekah and Will knew better than to try to sneak into that meeting, but they were glad to learn from Father that William Bradford would be their next governor.
Now that spring had arrived, Sunday meetings were more pleasant. No longer did they have to bundle up in all the clothing they possessed to keep from freezing in the unheated meetinghouse.
“I wish the tithingman would go away,” Will complained to Rebekah one Sunday. He rubbed his head. The tithingman’s rod had feathers on one end to tickle those who nodded, a knob on the other to whack those who fell asleep. He walked up and down checking on people and had given Will a smart whack! Rebekah took care to sit up straight on the hard wooden pew and concentrate on the elder in the high pulpit. Yet even she found it hard to pay attention. Sometimes the sermons lasted five hours.
“At least I didn’t have my neck and heels tied together and get left without food for a whole day,” Will soberly said. “That’s what the governor ordered when Will Billington refused to take his turn standing guard at night. He would have carried it out, too. It’s a good thing Mr. Billington said he was sorry and would keep watch for strange Indians and fire, like the rest of the men.”
“Let’s talk about happier things,” Rebekah pleaded. She didn’t like to think of people breaking the rules and being punished. “Did you know Edward Winslow and Susanna White are getting married?”
“Yes. I heard they have both been lonely since Mistress Winslow and William White died.” Will squinted his eyes against the bright sun. “Rebekah, if Mother or Father died, do you think the other one would get married again?”
Rebekah thought for a moment. “Perhaps. They’d want us to still have a mother and father.”
Will shrugged. “I’m not sure I like the idea. Can you imagine anyone ever taking Mother and Father’s place?”
“I don’t want to think about it,” Rebekah said. “I’m so tired of death and dying. I hope all of us who are left live to be as old as the mountains!”
“Maybe we will.” He flexed his right arm, and Rebekah knew he was proud of the muscle that popped up. “Now that Squanto has taught us how to fish and plant, we shan’t go hungry.” He laughed. “Do you want to hear something funny?”
“Of course.”
“I asked Squanto how he knew the very best time to plant maize and the seed we brought with us,” Will explained.
“What did he say?” Rebekah promptly forgot to be sad. Over time, she had learned not to be afraid of Squanto.
“He told me the time of planting must always be ‘when the leaves of the white oak are as large as a mouse’s ear.’ “
Rebekah chuckled. “A big mouse’s ear or a little mouse’s ear?”
“Can you imagine Squanto’s face if I asked him that?” Will demanded. He crossed his arms over his chest, planted his feet apart, and deepened his voice. “White boys ask too many questions.”
“You sound just like him!”
“I know.” Will went back to his normal voice. “I like Squanto. He has been so good to us. He … he’s almost as good a storyteller as Jake.” A shadow crossed his face and he quickly added, “We have to go back to hoeing. Now that the maize is growing so well, it’s hoe, hoe, hoe.” He bent over his work.
“I think it’s pretty, all green and in rows.” Rebekah looked over the large cleared space. “Father said we prepared ninety-six-thousand hillocks and trapped and carried forty tons of dead fish to make the crops grow!” She looked at her small hands. Calluses from hard work marred the pink palms. Her short nails were rimmed with earth. “I guess it will be worth it when the harvest comes.”
Because friendly relations had been established with the Indians, a new problem arose. Throughout the spring and into the summer, groups of visitors came regularly, always expecting food. In desperation, two ambassadors were chosen to go see Massasoit and ask him to call a halt to the frequent visits. The Pilgrims simply didn’t have food to spare. Edward Winslow and Will Hopkins served as ambassadors, with Squanto as guide and interpreter. Will wanted to go with them and longingly watched the three set out.
To the travelers’ dismay, Massasoit had very little food, for he had only recently arrived at his home. What little the visitors were given and a few bits of fish on the way home barely provided strength enough for them to again reach New Plymouth. Rebekah listened when Edward Winslow told the story. “We had nothing to eat the first day. The next morning was used in sports and shooting. About one o’clock Massasoit brought two boiled fishes that were supposed to feed forty people!” He groaned and patted his stomach. “If we had not had a partridge, I fear we should have starved. Swarms of mosquitoes meant we could not stay outdoors. Being crammed together with Massasoit, his wife, and two other chiefs on bare planks on the floor, to say nothing of the fleas and lice, made sleep impossible. We knew Massasoit felt ashamed he could offer us nothing better. We told him we wished to keep the Sabbath at home and departed on Friday before the sun rose.”
Rebekah hugged her knees, glad Father hadn’t gone. Adventuring was fine. Being hungry and eaten alive by insects was not!
Another Indian came to live with the settlers. Hobomok was a member of Massasoit’s council. Captain Standish made a special point of winning his friendship, but Squanto loyally served Governor Bradford.
One day Hobomok and Squanto went to Nemasket, an Indian camp about fifteen miles to the west. There they hoped to arrange for trade between the colonists and the Indians.
A few days later, Hobomok raced into the settlement. “Squanto has been murdered!” he gasped. His long hair hung in strings. Sweat beaded his frightened face. “The Nemasket chief Corbitant hates the English. He started a quarrel with us. He tried to stab me, but I escaped. It is said Corbitant has also helped the mighty Narragansetts take Massasoit.” His chest rose and fell from his hard run.
Governor Bradford immediately said, “I need volunteers to go with Captain Standish. We cannot allow this thing to go unpunished. Doing so would encourage more such incidents. No Indians would ever again dare be friendly with us. Corbitant and others like him will first kill them, then massacre the colonists. Men, who will go?”
Rebekah watched her brother bite his lip to keep from shouting, “I will!” Such childish behavior would immediately bar him from the expedition. Instead, he hurried to his father, who had already stepped forward. “Take me with you,” he said. “Please?”
Father hesitated. He gave Will a measuring look, then turned to Captain Standish. “The
lad’s wiry body and fleetness of foot might be of use.”
Standish looked at Will with cold eyes. “That it might. Has he learned to obey orders, and will you be responsible for him?”
Rebekah saw Will squirm and look guilty, but Father said in a clear, ringing voice, “He has and I will.” Rebekah hoped her brother would prove himself worthy of his father’s faith.
“See that he stays out of the way,” Standish ordered. “If I need him, I’ll say so. Otherwise, he’s to keep back.” A somber look came to his face. He wheeled toward Will. “I do not expect that those of us who bear arms and attack shall all be killed. If we are, you must run as you have never run before and carry the news to Governor Bradford. Should the Indians kill us, they will be wild with triumph, perhaps crazy enough to launch an attack on the colony.”
“Yes, sir.” Although Will’s face was pale with fear at Standish’s words, he kept his gaze level, and he saluted.
Rebekah’s heart thudded against her ribs as she watched her father and brother fall into line. It had been months since they had ventured outside the stockade, and then it had been to explore and discover food. Going into the night for the purpose of finding and destroying Indians was far different. Would any of the men, even Father, come back alive? Yet the murder of Squanto could not be ignored. Please, God, she silently prayed, keep them safe. No other words would come to her mind. Even though Corbitant and his followers were the enemy, Rebekah could not pray for their deaths.
With Hobomok as guide, the party set out for Corbitant’s camp. Rebekah sighed and turned away. She took her mother’s hand as they walked back to their hut. Now all they could do was pray.
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